


The Night Before

by snorklepie



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Attempt at Humor, Everyone is a little wistful on the last night before graduation, Fandom Trumps Hate, Gen, Graduation, Hurt/Comfort, If only they knew what we did, Jack wants to be a knight in shining armour, Jack's inner monologue, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Jack Zimmermann, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, References to Past Bullying, Sad Jack Zimmermann, Shitty has the WORST timing, brief reference to homophobia experienced by Bitty in Georgia, slightly angstier than I intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snorklepie/pseuds/snorklepie
Summary: It's the night before graduation in the Haus. Time to pack up those boxes, to share a last piece of pie... and maybe to examine a few what-might-have-beens.





	The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redheadgleek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgleek/gifts).



> This is a fic for Redheadgleek, who gave me the following prompt for the Fandom Trumps Hate 2017 Charity Auction:
> 
> "What would you think about exploring just prior to graduation, something about when Jack is packing his room the night before graduation, either from Bitty's or Jack's perspectives. Did Bitty help? Did they stay up all night tucking away cables and textbooks with Shitty randomly bursting in? Was Bitty still taking finals? Is that when Jack had the inkling of his feelings of Bitty, but just passed it off as leaving home?"

It’s a strange thing, to start packing up for the very last time. 

Jack has cleared out this room more than once before now, on similar May evenings. The windows are open, letting a cool breeze slip between the faded curtains and rippling a sheaf of papers on his desk. As usual, the Haus is never silent. He can hear muffled thumps from overhead, long dragging scrapes followed by impassioned swearing; clear indication that Holster is still having trouble extricating his suitcase from where it’s jammed under his bed. From the sloping roof outside, the sound of Shitty and Lardo having one of their increasingly frequent, oddly clandestine conversations. 

He tries not to listen. Not just to the slightly uneasy laughter coming from outside the window, or to the sound of abused floorboards overhead. He tries not to listen to the sound of the LAX team having a party down the street, or the chattering of the birds roosting in the trees outside. There’s nothing new in the muffled white noise, nothing he hasn’t heard a hundred, a thousand times before. It’s just that it all sounds like the beginning of the end. It’s precious and irritating and suddenly, unexpectedly heart-breaking and his breath catches, tight in his chest. Jack pauses as he reaches for the next book on the lopsided bookshelf, the open box below on his desk half-full. 

The room is full of boxes, most of them empty or only partially filled. Jack is usually neat, a person of habit borne on the road; of never spending quite enough time anywhere to accumulate any serious amount of possessions. He has enough of everything; he’s either bought or been given everything that he requires. His room is comfortable, well-equipped; but perhaps it lacks a certain level of personality. Shitty’s room is a riot of disorder and intellect; overflowing bookcases and walls dripping with incendiary political and social propaganda, lurid photographs and intricate sketches. The floor is covered with discarded clothing, spare hockey equipment, dirty dishes and overflowing ashtrays. 

No wonder he likes spending time lounging in Jack’s room. Or Bitty’s room across the hall, much neater than Shitty’s but with a certain relaxed disorder to the shelves, the sweaters draped along the back of chairs and the tangled cables on his desk. Bitty’s room is undefinably warm, oddly bright despite facing north and the much-lamented faulty radiator. 

If he strains his ears, he can hear the sound of Bitty’s voice; not the words but the low, gentle tone of his voice as he talks on the phone or perhaps as he records the latest instalment of his vlog. Another familiar constant, either the sound of music or chatter coming from Bitty’s room that started off as vaguely grating but ended up being an intrinsic element of Jack’s time in the Haus.

“Hey, brah. Need some help?” Shitty appears at the window, peeping coquettishly between the sagging plaid curtains. “This is like, _worryingly_ disorganised of you. You’ve got approximately seventeen hours before you leave and you haven’t even labelled your fucking boxes man. What’s with that?”

“Oh, and I bet your room is all packed up right now, huh?” Jack asks, finally placing his copy of Schama’s _Civilisation_ into the box in front of him. “You’ve got everything ready to go, right?”

Shitty slings a leg over the window-sill and waves his hand dismissively. “Come on, you know me better than that, man. I got a roll of trashbags and an empty trunk. What more do I need?”

“A dumpster and a contract with a fumigation company?” Jack offers, and waves away the joint that Shitty still holds between his fingers. “I’ll pass. Extensive drugs screenings on the horizon, remember?”

Shitty nods and sighs, before pinching it out and pitching it out of the open window. Somewhere far below, a frog shouts and swears in surprise. Shitty looks briefly shifty, before spying a Snickers bar sticking out of the side pocket of Jack’s backpack on the floor. 

“Go right ahead,” Jack assures him, after Shitty sits cross-legged on the floor and tears it open. 

“Well what the fuck are you doing with a candy bar anyway, Jack?” Shitty asks, after he swallows the first bite. “I thought your sugar quota was entirely taken up by pie, anyhow.”

“I keep them for Bittle.” Jack explains, turning and grabbing another couple of books. “Checking practice before breakfast. He can get low blood sugar.”

“Ha, yeah!” Shitty grins reminiscently. “Damn, that boy can get _wicked_ hangry. Remember that time during finals last year when Chowder said that he thought ‘Blue Ivy’ was kind of a stupid name and Bitty hadn’t eaten lunch? I thought we’d have to pull him off of the poor kid.”

“He did make him four blueberry pies to apologise though.” Jack says, reaching for the tape and sealing the box shut. It gives him something to do with his hands. 

Shitty shrugs and nods, and takes another huge bite. “Fuck, I’m going to miss him. Nothing quite like opening the front door and having the smell of a blueberry pie hit you in the face. I swear, I’ll probably waste away like some kind of Victorian heroine within a week of starting grad school.”

Jack doesn’t respond, turning to the open door of his closet and reaching for the folded pile of spare bedlinen on the top shelf. Shitty lolls back on the rug, stretching out lazily and sighing as he closes his eyes. “Man, this is weird. I can’t really process that this is _it_. Our last night here. It feels like, I dunno… there should be some kind of ceremony or something.”

“We did have a farewell kegster two days ago, Shitty. You delivered an epic oration on the nature of friendships forged in the fires of university hockey teams. Holster cried.”  
Shitty looks wistful. “If only I remembered it. Bet it was legendary.”

“Oh, I think it’s safe to say you’ll be able to find it on Youtube. You were naked and standing on the roof at the time. You had ‘42’ painted on your ass in red paint.”

“Lardo told me about that part. Apparently, I owe her a shit-ton of crimson lake.” Shitty frowns, and worries at a handful of carpet fibres. “Guess I’ll have to mail it to her.”

“You guys going to meet up over the summer?” Jack asks after a moment, closing the box and reaching for the tape again. 

Shitty glares at the rug, as if it’s done him a deep personal wrong. “The jury is out on that one, my friend. Crap, it’s getting late. Guess I better start packing too.”

Jack watches him hoist himself to his feet, trying to reorder the words of questions that have flooded his mind. Shitty is moving quickly though, and he’s gone by the time Jack has opened his mouth to ask. He’s uneasy as he returns to his closet, folding each item of clothing with far more care than is necessary. 

“Knock knock!” Bitty sticks his head around the door which still stands ajar. His smile flickers slightly as he takes in the scene in Jack’s room, the scattered boxes and roll of packing tape in his hands. “Jack, I’m taking orders. Apple Rhubarb or Lemon Tart?”

Jack pauses. “Come on, Bittle. Nobody expects you to cater on the last night. Don’t you have stuff to do?”

“Made them this afternoon. Won’t take me more than an hour to pack, tops.” Bitty assures him. “After all, I’m not the one who has to clear my stuff out entirely, huh?”

“I guess.” Jack nods, looking around his room; the bare walls and empty shelves. “Uh, lemon please. That would be great, Bitty. I’ll help you carry the things you’re leaving up to the attic later if you want?”

“Thanks, Jack.” Bitty wrinkles his nose at him affectionately. Jack has a familiar, complicated feeling in his chest and he swallows hard, probably audibly, after Bitty disappears from the doorway.

“No. Stop it. _No._ ” he mutters quietly, and takes a deep breath. 

The occasional swirls of feeling he experiences around Bittle still manage to take him by surprise, even now. Over the last few years, he’s been able to go for days, sometimes an entire week, without having his heart clench when he looks at Eric Bittle. He’s had days when he can look at his round, freckled face and his ridiculously brown eyes and been able to feel almost fraternal towards him. 

And then, always, _always_ it would come flooding back. He’d catch sight of the focussed, intent look on Bitty’s face as he darted across the ice. His neat clever fingers pinching the edge of a pie crust. The back of his neck as he shrugged out of his coat, the quirk of his lips as he took a sip of sugary coffee. Stupid, tiny inconsequential things. 

Things that would have Jack’s pulse stuttering helplessly, and he’d have to look away; to distract himself. Because some things aren’t meant for him. Some things are always going to stay a hazy impossibility. Kept locked inside. Or occasionally, guiltily indulged after lights are turned out and doors are locked and sounds of release are kept muffled. 

Jack takes three more deep, measured breaths and continues to methodically pack his boxes; reaching for each CD and ensuring that they are alphabetically ordered and arranged on end for ease of unpacking. Who knows when or where they are going to be unpacked, though? Jack may be headed for Providence, but he doesn’t have an apartment organised. 

He’ll be living in hotels a lot of the time. He’s half anxious, half longing for the idea of a vaguely permanent home for himself. The Haus has been his home for three years; he knows every inch of it, every scarred and battered wall, the smells and sounds of the rickety old building. 

He’d been nervous moving in here. It had taken him a while to get used to it, and it was really down to Shitty that he’d finally come to love the Haus. Shitty with his terminal lack of regard for personal space, wandering into Jack’s room half-naked to discuss a particularly fascinating dream he’d had or to chivvy him downstairs into the throng of yet another party. Jack had never quite understood why Shitty had decided to take him under his wing. He hadn’t really welcomed it at first, had felt awkward and occasionally annoyed at Shitty’s persistent bonhomie and insistence that Jack have some kind of social life. Shitty had talked to him about everything, about his fraught relationship with his family, his sexuality, his politics, his ambitions and even his fears. And eventually, haltingly, Jack had managed to talk to Shitty – he had been the first person at Samwell he had ever told about what really happened with his overdose. He told Shitty about what it was like growing up in his dads’ shadow, his fear that no matter how hard he worked; he’d never measure up. And when he’d eventually looked up from his clasped, sweating hands Shitty had merely nodded and wordlessly leaned against Jack’s shoulder for a long minute until his breathing steadied again. 

There are still some things he’s never told Shitty, though. 

“One Lemon Tart and I got either a beer or a Dr. Pepper…” Bitty says, breezing into the room and disrupting Jack’s train of thought. He’s carrying a plate and has two bottles tucked under his arm, which he deposits on Jack’s disordered desk. “And do not ask me for a fork, the contents of the cutlery drawer have mysteriously disappeared _again_. I’m blaming Lardo this time; I heard her working on a piece earlier that sounded suspiciously metallic.”

Jack comes and takes the plate. “I really don’t care. Wow, Bits…”

The pastry is delicate and flaky, fluted around the edge of the crust. The filling is soft and trembles slightly as he lifts the plate, deep sunshine yellow oozing as he picks the slice up. He could probably use a fork; the lemon curd filling coats his fingers and lips as he eats it, sharp sweet citrus sweeping across his tongue along with a slight exotic perfume. 

“Green cardamom,” Bitty informs him, looking gratified and strangely a little flustered. “Pretty good, huh? I infused the filling with a few pods. My mama always says that cardamom tastes like bath salts but I kinda like it.” He reaches out and picks up a morsel of pastry from Jack’s plate and pops it in his mouth, licks a crumb from his lower lip. 

“Um, it’s good. Really good.” Jack confirms, turning away and reaching for the Dr. Pepper. He doesn’t really like it, but it keeps his hands busy. 

Bitty sighs, looking around the scattered boxes as he opens the bottle of beer. He takes a long swig. 

Jack doesn’t watch. 

“Jeez. It’s kind of weird thinking that you’re not going to be across the hall any more…” Bitty gives a half-smile. “Who’s going to nag me about eating more protein next year, huh?”

“I guess I could text you. ‘PROTEIN, BITTLE. REMEMBER THE PROTEIN.’”

Bitty grins wide at Jack’s monotone delivery and laughs his throaty little chuckle. “You better. Come on, I’ll help you pack up your CDs.”

Jack briefly considers protesting, saying that Bitty doesn’t have to do that. 

“Thanks, Bits.”

“Oh my god, though. You still own CDs. And you _listen_ to them.” Bitty reaches for a handful of cases and studies a Johnny Cash album curiously. “You are so retro, Mr. Zimmerman.”

“You only offered to help so you could chirp me about that, didn’t you?” Jack asks, taking the CD from him and placing it into the cardboard box. 

“I would _never_ , Jack!” Bitty protests, wide-eyed and takes another sip of his beer to cover up his grin. 

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Jack says, watching him take in the alphabetic arrangement in the box. Bitty begins to follow the system, and Jack can almost _hear_ him struggling not to tease him about that too. 

“So what’s going on with Shitty and Lardo, do you think?” Bitty asks after a minute, his voice pitched cautiously low. He cocks his head and looks up at Jack, who shrugs. 

“I really don’t know. Shitty doesn’t seem to know if they’re going to meet up over the summer or not. I’m kind of surprised by that.” he admits. 

“Well, yeah.” Bitty says, frowning a little. “I mean… we all _know_ , right? The way Shitty looks at her…”

“And the way she looks at him when he’s not looking.” Jack agrees after a pause, feeling the ache in his chest return. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess maybe they think that the long-distance thing would be too difficult. Shitty’s going to be working really hard at Harvard, and I guess he’s not going to have much time to come back and visit.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah I guess.” Bitty says quietly, studying the box of CDs in front of him. “Um. This is full, which box do you want me to use next?”

Jack stares at him for a beat, taking in the way Bitty is gazing intently into the depths of the box like a bunch of old jewel cases are the most fascinating thing he’s seen in years.  
He reaches for another empty carton and holds it out, and Bitty takes it without meeting his eyes. 

“Shitty came to visit me at my parents place the summer before last,” Jack says suddenly, just to fill the suddenly heavy silence. “Um. It was the first time they met him.”

“That’s nice. How did it go?” Bitty asks, his small neat hand reaching for another handful of cases. Jack watches the rolled up sleeve of his shirt slip back along his forearm, nestling into the crook of his elbow. The pale blue cotton stretches across his shoulders, moulding to the line of his back. 

“Uh. Well… I mean, it was good. But, uh… I suppose there was a certain amount of surprise involved?”

Bitty smiles again, and it reaches his eyes. “I’ll bet. I reckon everybody remembers the first time they meet Shitty.”

“Well yeah. But the first time my parents met Shitty he was standing on the roof of my truck in the driveway of their house, holding this old boombox above his head that was blaring that song ‘Rather Be’” 

“Oh my god!” Bitty giggles, his eyes wide. “No! He did not!”

“Come on, you’re seriously having trouble believing this? It’s Shitty. He was wearing that bright pink Vagina Monologues t-shirt and he yelled ‘Zimmermann you glorious fucker! Come land one on me!’”

Bitty crumples onto the floor, helpless with laughter. “Oh my god, this is _wonderful._ How did your parents take it?”

“Um. Pretty well, I guess? I mean, kind of shell-shocked at first; obviously. They had practically adopted him by the end of the week though.” Jack snorted, and began to clear out his desk drawer. “They were kind of sad when they realised he’d be going to grad school in Harvard and I’d be in Providence. My mom kept sending me all these concerned emails.”

“Aw, that’s nice though.” Bitty says, reaching for his beer from where he sits on the rug. “I guess they could tell you were good buddies.”

“Oh. Ha, no. You see, my parents kind of thought… well, I hadn’t had any friends over for a long time. And they had heard me talking about Shitty sort of a lot since I first started at Samwell.” Jack flushes slightly as he sees the pieces falling into place for Bitty. “They thought we were breaking up? I didn’t really realise they thought we were together. I guess my dad did see Shitty lying around in my room in various states of undress when he was staying with us. And, you know how it is… you just kind of stop thinking about it after a while. Cause that’s just Shitty. But I suppose it must have looked different to my parents.”

Bitty laughs and shakes his head. “Man, he really has a way of making life interesting for those around him.”

“Chyeah.” Jack grins into the drawer, pulling out ballpoint pens and legal pads. “He certainly does.”

There’s a long pause as they continue filling boxes, and Jack throws old notes into the trash can. The evening is growing darker, and as Jack reaches to flick the switch on the lamp by the bed he hears Bitty clear his throat. 

“So, uh – it wasn’t an issue with your mom and dad? I mean, they didn’t care about you being involved with a guy?”

“Well, I wasn’t.” Jack says blankly. He feels vaguely wrong-footed, turning to face Bitty who is clearly making an effort to appear only casually interested. “But… well, no. They’re not like that. I think they were kind of happy when they thought I… when they thought I had someone.” 

“Oh.” Bitty wraps his arms around his legs and rests his chin on his knees. He looks up at Jack and his eyes seem even darker than usual, a hint of resigned sadness in his freckled face that makes Jack’s stomach clench. “Oh… that’s good. I mean, that’s nice. That they wouldn’t care.”

Jack hesitates, before he asks gently: “You still haven’t told your parents?”

Bitty shrugs and frowns down at his bare knees. He shakes his head. “My mama keeps telling me about how she ‘just happened to run into’ her friends’ daughters in town. Girls I went to school with. Telling me just how pretty they’re looking these days, how sweet and smart they are; how I should really look them up when I get back to Madison. One of them is a girl who was in my biology class, Mandy Gordon. She once leaned over to me in church and told me… she told me I was going to burn in hell ‘like the rest of my kind’. ”

Jack feels the blood draining from his face as he watches Bitty, listens to the dull matter of fact tone he uses. He’s not looking up at Jack, not even when he comes closer and stands over him. “Bitty. Your mom won’t think that about you. She couldn’t ever think that about you. No one could.” And, he adds silently, if he ever encounters someone who has ever said something like that to Bittle, they are going to be very, _very_ sorry.

“Mandy sure seemed to.” Bitty remarks, and takes a deep, slightly shaky breath. “It’s really not such an unusual attitude, where I come from. Don’t get me wrong, Jack - I don’t think my folks are going to say stuff like that to me. But they’re kind of old-fashioned. I mean, they’re not cruel or intolerant but I know it’s still going to break their hearts. They’re never going to have grandkids. And they’ll know that I’ll never spend much time in Madison again, that’s for sure. I’ll be… I’ll be such an embarrassment to them.” He trails off, swallowing hard. “Shit. I’m sorry, Jack. I have no idea where all that came from. You don’t need this, not on your last night.”

Jack’s not entirely sure how he ends up on the floor next to Bitty, but there he is. He’s kneeling beside him, looking at how Bitty’s fingers are knotted and white-knuckled where they are clasped around his calves. He doesn’t know what to do, or what to say. The tension and sadness that radiates from Bitty’s hunched frame is filling him with uneasiness and his skin prickles uncomfortably. 

“I didn’t know you were so worried about this,” he says slowly. “I’m sorry, Bits.”

Bitty shrugs, and hastily passes his hand beneath his nose. “I’m not, like, constantly worried about telling them. I kind of manage not to think about it a lot of the time when I’m _here._ It’s just that I’ll be getting on that plane back to Georgia the day after tomorrow and it’s something I can’t really escape once I’m there. I have to spend a lot of time thinking about how I come across to people, what I wear, the way I talk... it’s just kind of exhausting. And some people, like Mandy, they can still tell and I end up worrying that they’re going to say something to my parents.”

Jack nods, feeling a dull ache in his chest as Bitty waves a hand hopelessly. 

“It’s why Samwell was the top of my list of colleges, you know? I figured I wouldn’t have to hide so much here. And I got used to it, got used to just being… well, me. I got comfortable here. And going back to Madison feels like… I don’t know, like I’m putting on clothes that I’ve grown out of. Like I’ve got to fit inside this stupid little box I can’t get into anymore.”

Jack can tell how much Bitty is fighting the tears; he’s staring fixedly at his own knees and not looking up at him. He’s managing to keep his voice level, but it’s getting huskier with each word he speaks. He leans closer, and after a moment he puts his arm around Bitty’s stiff shoulders; wondering what in the world he can say to make this in any way better. 

Bitty doesn’t move as Jack’s arm wraps hesitantly around him, and for a long moment Jack wonders if he’s done the wrong thing. If he’s invading his space, or making him uncomfortable, or drawing attention to the fact that Bitty’s on the verge of crying. He’s about to make a clumsy attempt to extricate himself when Bitty sighs quietly and seems to crumple towards him. He leans against Jack’s side, taking a deep steadying breath that Jack feels rather than hears.

“Is… is there anywhere else you can go instead?” Jack asks, after a moment. “You shouldn’t have to go someplace where you’re going to be miserable, Bitty.”

Bitty shakes his head. “Not really. And mama looks forward to seeing me so much, it would break her heart if I told her I wasn’t coming home after all. And… and I guess that maybe on some level I think that there’s a chance I won’t be welcome there much longer? So I should make the most of it?”

Jack squeezes Bitty’s shoulder, pulling him a little closer without even thinking about it.

“So many things seem to be coming to an end,” Bitty murmurs, so softly that Jack wonders if he’s meant to hear it or if Bitty even intended to say it aloud. The quiet sadness in his voice is unmistakeable, and it echoes through Jack as they breathe together. 

They sit in silence for a long minute, Jack’s hand running in slow circles against Bitty’s back. “Could I… could I maybe come visit you this summer?”

Bitty startles slightly at this, looking up at Jack with wide eyes. “What?”

“Um. Sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed- I… sorry.” Jack stammers, feeling his face burning. 

“No!” Bitty watches Jack’s face falling and flails slightly. “Oh god, I mean, ‘no, don’t be sorry’; not ‘No you can’t come’. Um. But Jack, that’s really sweet of you, but you don’t need to come check up on me. I swear I’ll be fine. I don’t know why I’m being such a sad sack today. It’s only a couple of months and I’ll be back at Samwell again.”

“I don’t want to check up on you. I mean, I-“ Jack takes a moment to marshal his seething thoughts, fighting the inevitable embarrassment. “Bitty, you’re talking like you’re the only one who’s going to be missing someone. I- I want to come visit you. Because I’m going to miss you too, you know? I’m…” he takes a deep breath. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so bad at this.”

“You’re going to miss me?” Bitty echoes, and the trace of surprise in his face makes Jack pause. Seriously? How can this be news to Bitty? Surely it’s been written all over his face for months? The idea that Bitty doesn’t know his own importance to Jack makes something go cold inside him. Does he buy into the idea of hockey-robot Jack, who doesn’t have time or inclination to care more than casually about other people? On some level, does he still think of him as the overbearing, unfeeling jerk that ordered him around as a frog?  
He can feel his heart throbbing painfully, the beats growing faster and faster. He takes a long deep breath, holds it for three and lets it go; ignoring the prickle of sweat under his arms and at the back of his neck. He’s not sure if Bitty notices the brief surge of stress, although his wide eyes narrow a little.  
_Words. Find some fucking words and use them._

“Bitty, I’m- I’m scared about leaving Samwell.” It feels like he’s tearing the words out of himself; they cling and tangle and they are almost painful to say. Because this isn’t what Jack does. He’s supposed to be the captain, he’s supposed to be strong. He’s not supposed to say things like this, not words that make Bitty’s hands tighten on him and his round face soften with pity. But he plunges on, the words coming faster and faster as he lets them go. “I’m… I’m kind of scared about joining a new team. I’ve never had something like this before, with you guys; I never had this kind of, of _belonging_ before. And it took me a long time to get to this point, where I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be and now… now I have to leave. And I don’t know if I’m ready. And…” he closes his eyes, forcing the words out. “I’m scared about losing you guys. I’m scared about losing you, Bits.”

“Oh…” Bitty breathes, and he feels it on his face. “Oh Jack, sweetheart, _no_ … no, you couldn’t lose me.” Jack hears the faint smile in his voice and it makes his heart clench. “I wouldn’t let you.”

And somehow, Bitty’s wrapping his arms around Jack’s neck, holding him close. And he gives in, hating himself a little but completely unable to stop himself pressing his face into Bitty’s shoulder. Bitty’s hand is on the back of his head, petting his hair almost like he’s some kind of giant cat. Jack nonsensically feels like he’s being untangled in some way, just through the pressure of Bitty’s fingertips against his scalp. He inhales deeply, against the soft fabric of Bitty’s shirt; taking in the scent of boy, of laundry detergent and hair product and faint sweat. Bitty’s shoulder is well built yet still narrow; if Jack wrapped his arms around him he’d easily engulf him. A dull roar of want is added to the gently seething anxiety in his chest and he pushes it down ruthlessly, listening to the words that Bitty’s murmuring against his ear. 

“Neither would Shitty, that madman would hunt you down. We all would, every one of us. Please don’t be scared of that. Nobody’s going to forget about you, Jack…” 

Jack feels like he’s run out of words. He nods against Bitty’s shoulder, hardly daring to move. Bitty’s kneeling up between his thighs, and Jack’s hand is still on his back. 

“And yeah, _of course_ I want you to come visit me; if you really want to?” Bitty asks, leaning back a little so he can look up into Jack’s eyes. “That would… that would mean a lot to me, if you could spare the time. It’ll help, you know? I’ll have you to look forward to.”

_You can have me, all of me, always. Can’t you see it in my face?_

“I want to help-“ Jack begins, and stops. Swallows. “Bitty, do you promise to let me know if there’s ever anything I can do to help? If you’re unhappy, or anything happens? If you don’t feel safe or you’re lonely or you just need someone to talk to? Or it doesn’t have to be me, if you don’t want – just promise you won’t try and stick it out alone if it all becomes too much? I’ll come get you if you need to leave.”

Bitty’s eyes have grown progressively wider as Jack rambles on, his hands resting on his arms as he stares up into Jack’s face. There’s something complicated happening in his expression, and Jack can’t quite figure it out. There’s something like pain there, pain that’s mixed up with clear affection and the way Bittle’s mouth twists makes Jack think that he’s steeling himself against something. 

“You’re, um. You’re kind of a knight in shining armour, aren’t you, Jack Zimmermann?” Bitty chirps him, and punches his shoulder gently. “Wow. Um... Yes. Yes, I promise. It’s not going to come to that, but I promise you I’ll let you know if I’m having a hard time. And you can come swooping in and carry me off on your steed, okay?”

“It’ll probably be an Uber, to be honest.” Jack replies, some of the tension draining away. “I hear it’s difficult to find a reliable steed rental in Georgia.”

“Well that’s a lot less dramatic, but I guess I’ll make do…” Bitty half-laughs and rocks back on his heels, his hands slipping from Jack’s arms. 

Jack almost follows him when the point of contact is lost, wants to lean forward and wrap himself around Bitty, who is visibly pulling himself together and reaching for the open box full of CDs. He forces himself to roll to his feet, stretching and turning away towards the desk and another handful of pens and highlighters destined for his stationery box. He stares down at the coloured plastic, the unsharpened pencils and the dried out sharpie inside the desk drawer, feeling like he’s reeling slightly. Nothing has changed, besides hearing Bitty’s words. He’s breathing a little more easily and yet feels weirdly hollow. He feels like something indefinable has slipped through his fingers. 

Perhaps if he’d used different words, or a different tone; if he’d looked at Bitty in another way or touched him differently…

 _You’d still be leaving tomorrow. You still wouldn’t be enough, good enough for him. Even if he wanted you, you wouldn’t be able to be the right kind of person for him. You_ know _this._

“Jack?” Bitty’s standing next to him, and Jack wonders how long he’s just been standing here, staring blankly at a handful of old pens. He frowns down at them, before turning his head to look at Bitty; and it occurs to him that Bitty is standing rather closer than he normally would. He looks nervous, and oddly determined and his eyes are impossibly dark as he looks up at Jack. His hands are empty, and he grasps the edge of the desk; Jack watches with a kind of absent fascination as the pressure turns Bitty’s neat pink thumbnail pale. 

“Yeah?” he replies, when he remembers how to talk. 

“There’s just something that I meant to- I mean, I always wanted to…“ He trails off. 

Bitty’s lower lip is slightly chapped, he keeps pinching it between his teeth and wetting it; flushed and slick when he lets go again. He’s extending one not-quite-steady hand towards Jack’s wrist, and swallowing hard. His hair is glinting from the light of the desk lamp, strands of dark gold gleaming softly. Jack doesn’t dare move, simply watches the way that Bitty’s pupils are dilating; feels the warmth of their proximity; senses the infinitesimal shift in atmosphere. He’s breathless, his heart hammering in his chest as Bitty’s fingers land on the back of his wrist.

 _Please._ Please. Let this be real. Let this be happening…

He takes a deep breath, feeling fixed in the force of Bitty’s gaze which is unavoidable, he’s drowning in it and he’s somehow terrified and he knows he’s on the edge of something that might change him forever.

Bitty’s mouth… It’s so far away and yet Jack knows, in this moment, all he needs to do is bend his head a little. He needs to send some small message to the boy with his tousled hair and reddened mouth; he needs to meet him half way. Bitty’s clearly _waiting_ , his cheeks flushing. Jack’s frozen though, he’s somehow scared to move from this fixed point in time. 

Because after this, he’s going to have so much more to lose.

_Christ, so much to gain. His mouth. I’ll be all right if I just get to have this, just this once. Just one kiss, that can be enough. It’s more than I ever thought I’d have… That mouth, the warmth of him…_

He turns his hand over, letting Bitty’s fingers slip slowly across his palm before they begin to slot between his own. 

And that moment, the door to Jack’s room slams open again; Shitty striding in with a bong in one hand and a bedazzled sombrero tucked under his arm. “Jack, you beautiful Canadian stag! Look what I-“

Bitty shies away as if he’s been burnt. He coughs, and rubs the back of his neck before grabbing another handful of CDs from the shelf. He pitches them clumsily into the box on the floor, his eyes hooded and trained on the rug. Jack feels a physical wrench, his heart painfully dropping. 

_Shit. Shit. That was it. That was the moment, and now it’s gone. It’s just… gone._

“Whoa, um. Sorry, were you guys in the middle of something-?”

“No.” Bitty says tightly, putting the last case into the box. It’s upside down; the last handful disordered and sliding around on top of the box. He stares at it for a long moment, then pushes it away with a strange, fretful motion. “No, it’s fine. Um. Okay, I’m going to go pack up my stuff now.”

Shitty watches him leave, wide eyed at the way Bitty won’t look at either of them. He smacks his elbow on the doorframe as he goes; it must be painful but he just grabs hold of it with his other hand and pushes blindly through the door of his bedroom. He kicks it shut behind himself, without a backwards glance. 

Jack is stricken. He can’t move. He can’t even bring himself to get mad at Shitty for breaking the fragile, strange moment. He just stares into the hallway, at the tightly shut door of Bitty’s room. 

“Brah- I….” Shitty murmurs, dropping his odd cargo to the floor. “Geez, I should’ve knocked. I’m-“

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Jack says automatically, maybe a little too fast.

“Jack, come on…” Shitty shakes his head. “Look, he’s right across the hall. Forget that I charged in here like some kind of spectacularly tactless wildebeest and get over there.”

Jack doesn’t reply, his hands are shaking as he empties the drawer. He feels like he’s been doused in cold water. 

_Yes, you could go knock on his door. You could go try pick up the pieces and start again. It might not be too late._

_Fuck, it’s already too late. You know it would never have been enough, who are you trying to kid? You think you could have walked away from Eric Bittle, satisfied that you’d kissed him and that would be enough? Stupid stupid stupid!_

Jack takes a long, deep breath and reaches for an envelope of prints from his last photography project; slips it carefully into another empty box. Reaches for another, meticulously lining them up so that the precious contents won’t be crushed. He can feel the weight of Shitty’s troubled gaze on the back of his neck, but right now he can’t do much except focus on the movements of his hands; the exact placement of each envelope, each corner carefully aligned.

Eventually, Shitty begins to ramble about something else; telling Jack some elaborate and far-fetched story involving the theft of the sombrero from the LAX house last year but the words merely drift around the room and the best Jack can do is nod, smile mechanically at what he supposes are the correct moments. Shitty wraps him in a tight hug before he finally goes to bed, plants a wet kiss on his cheek before leaving Jack in merciful silence. 

He looks around his room once he’s finished, takes in the piles of neatly packaged boxes and cartons. There really aren’t that many, considering the enormity and importance of the last four years. He can’t hear anything from across the hall, hasn’t heard a sound for hours. Bitty’s probably asleep.

Jack is on autopilot as he goes and brushes his teeth and washes his face. He avoids looking at himself in the mirror, knowing that he’s not going to like what he sees this evening. He’s antsy and the skin on the back of his hands prickles oddly. 

He opens the door to the hallway from the bathroom, although he’s not entirely sure why. He can hear the sound of Holster’s booming laugh coming from downstairs, and light filters around the edges of doors and through the window at the end of the hall. It’s only a few feet to Bitty’s door, but it seems like a huge distance all of a sudden. Jack stands in the bathroom doorway for a long time, wrestling with himself; willing himself to just take a few steps, just to raise his hand and knock. 

It’s not like Bitty to be so quiet for so long. Maybe he really is asleep, curled up in his twin sized bed with that stuffed rabbit everyone pretends not to know about. 

_But what’s the point? What exactly are you going to say to him? What on earth is the plan here, besides the fact that you want to see his face?_

Jack loses track of the time, standing motionless in the bathroom doorway, grasping the doorframe tightly. He’s stared at Bitty’s door for so long that he’s memorised every nick in the paint, every whorl in the grain of the wood. 

And then it opens. 

He and Bitty startle at the same moment, Bitty literally jumping as he steps into the dimly lit hall. 

“ _Shit!_ Oh my lord, Jack!” Bitty presses a palm to his heart, and half-laughs. Jack’s own heart is pounding and he raises his hands placatingly. 

“Sorry, sorry! I was just- I was…” 

_hanging around like a creep outside your bedroom?_

“Just what?” Bitty asks curiously, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. 

“Just…” Jack shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. Thinking. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s okay.” Bitty says, studying his bare toes as he scuffs them through the worn grey carpet. “I was just going to go grab some water. You want anything from the kitchen?”

“No, I’m good-“ Jack feels absurdly alarmed as Bitty begins to turn towards the stairs, and raises his hand again in an unmistakable ‘stop’ gesture before he manages to assemble his thoughts, never mind his words. 

Bitty pauses and looks up at him expectantly, biting his lip. When Jack is unable to dredge up some small talk, he offers: “You nervous about tomorrow?”

“A little. Bitty, I- I’m sorry about earlier.” He swallows hard, and forces himself to hold Bitty’s slightly guarded gaze. “I can’t stop thinking about… I mean-“ he sighs, and the only honest words he can say are: “I just really wish I wasn’t leaving so soon. I… I feel like there’s so many things I could have done?”

And suddenly, Bitty’s expression isn’t quite so hard to read. His eyes are sad, and kind and so very beautiful that Jack inhales sharply, his hand clenching on the doorframe next to him as Bitty steps closer. 

“Jack - there’s also a lot of things I didn’t think were possible…” Bitty murmurs, and his smile is bittersweet. “But I guess there’s not much point in dwelling on that now.” 

“I’m sorry.” Jack repeats softly, and he is. 

He really is. 

Bitty shakes his head. And before Jack quite knows what is happening he feels Bitty’s lips press briefly to his cheek, close to the corner of his mouth. Their eyes meet as Bitty draws back, and he feels the soft touch of his mouth once more on his opposite cheek. Jack exhales slowly, feeling a physical ache as the space between them grows. 

“Always wanted to try that.” Bitty gives him a slightly lopsided smile, stepping back into the shadows of his doorway. “It’s how they do it in Montreal, huh?”

Jack nods, and he steadfastly ignores the faint prickle at the back of his eyes. Bitty’s smile flickers, reading something in his face. He grasps the doorframe next to him again, and nods. 

“Um. Yeah. Yeah, it is. Good- goodnight, Bits.”

“Goodnight, Jack.” Bitty waves and turns for the door of his room. “Tomorrow’s going to be great. Just you wait and see.”


End file.
